The Four Winds: Southern Breeze
by Merakia
Summary: Four winds there are: north, south, east, & west. The north wind is unpredictable while the east wind is steadfast. The west wind is adventurous, and the south wind is gentle and unassuming. The four children of Imrahil make up these for winds, but this is the story of the south wind. (On Temporary Hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

Prince Imrahil and his three sons gathered in the study on a wintry night. Normally, Imrahil allowed his sons to enter his private den, but circumstances altered the rules. Five-year old Amrothos sat on his father's knee, watching twelve-year old Elphir pace the room. Erchirion stared dismally out the window into the stormy night.

"Father," said Elphir, "why did the baby choose a stormy night in the middle of winter to come into the world?"

"He or she may not be aware of the weather, Elphir," remarked Erchirion from his post. "I have never seen the lightning flash so."

After handing Amrothos to Elphir, Imrahil joined his middle son. He breathed, "Look at the waves! They rear like their frothy heads liked infuriated bulls. It seems that the heavens are emptying angry torrents. See how the wild winds sweep the rains across the tumultuous sea as one would let loose a drawn curtain."

"What does 'tumultuous' mean?" questioned Erchirion, stumbling over the new word. At nine, he was always listening for new words to add to his vocabulary.

Imrahil answered, "It means agitated. Now, come away from the window."

"I heard that the occurrence, weather, or season a child is born in determines the child's temperament," Elphir observed, grabbing Amrothos's nightgown to keep him from heading towards the merry fire. "Erchirion was born during a spring day, and he is as gay as a lark."  
"And you are as grave as the day you were born in," smiled Imrahil. "And Amrothos, little man, you caused some trouble while your mother and I were on a boating excursion. Since then, you have been a little mischief-maker." He swung Amrothos into the air while the boy crowed gleefully.

"Surely the new baby will have the strongest will or the worst fits out of the three of us," said Erchirion, thoughtfully. He then laughed, "What a foursome we shall be, Father, getting into endless scrapes.

"Maybe," said Imrahil quietly. "Elphir, add another log onto the fire. Erchirion, please ring for a servant."

While Elphir and Erchirion obeyed, Amrothos began nodding off. It was way past his bedtime, and he had enough of fighting sleepiness for the sake of his new sibling. A wide-eyed servant answered the summons and took Amrothos off to his bed. Unfortunately, the servant had no news of the birth.

Eventually midnight struck. Elphir dozed on the couch with a book on his lap while Erchirion slumbered on the great, fluffy rug in front of the fireplace. Imrahil smiled at the sight of his two sleeping boys before brooding on the other times he had to wait. Was the last time his wife went into labor as long as this one? He could not quite remember. He was definitely quite nervous, but he did not wish to show it to his equally nervous boys. Now since they were more or less asleep, he let the worry cloud his brow.

When his book fell to the floor, Elphir awoke with a start. His brother had given up staying up, and his father sat in his easy chair with a strange expression. He softly knelt beside him and whispered, "Father, will Mother be alright?"

"I hope so," said he. "I best get Erchirion to bed, and you also must retire. It is past midnight, and I will not have you stay up any longer."

Without further ado, he tucked Erchirion in bed. Elphir was more reluctant to fall to his bed, but a very loud yawn betrayed him. Soon, all three sons were soundly asleep. Outside, the storm abated into a gentle patter against the window.

The sun rose the next day, greeting the newborn and her mother. Imrahil sat next to his weary wife, cradling the slumbering little bundle.

"What shall we name her?" his wife asked.

Imrahil thought a moment before answering, "Maybe something that means winter storm."

"What about Lothíriel?"

Imrahil chuckled, "Flower-garlanded maiden? She might turn out to be more like her brothers than a little lady."

"Blooming flowers often give me hope, and I should like my little girl to be a sign of hope. Besides, I do not think she will be like our rowdy boys. It seems that she was a bit shy about meeting the world while her brothers, especially Amrothos, were rather eager to greet the world. "

"I hope suitors will not strip our gardens in efforts to literally make her a flower-garlanded maiden," smiled Imrahil, fondly kissing his wife.

Soon after, Imrahil and his wife heard their sons running down the hall to greet both mother and child. Elphir was the first one to enter because his legs were the longest. Eventually, Erchirion arrived, panting slightly. Amrothos soon followed with a rather red face.

"Come meet your little sister, boys," Imrahil said tenderly. "Mother is very tired, so direct all your questions to me."

"Is she like last night's storm?" Elphir immediately asked.

Erchirion queried, "What is her name?"

"When will te blay wit me?" Amrothos verbalized.

Imrahil chuckled, "Her name is Lothíriel, and she has been quite a quiet baby, so far. Amrothos, my boy, she will play with you when she is old enough."

The littlest of their boys nodded solemnly and stared inquisitively at the wrinkled face of the baby. "I will wait den," he said resolutely, "until te is big like me."

Six months later, Imrahil's father, Adrahil, returned from a lengthy trip to Minas Tirith. His greeting party consisted of his family, for he wished his return to be a quiet one. He was not a weak old man with a hunched back. Tall and strong with clear eyes was he. This surprised Imrahil's sons, for they imagined him as a different sort of man. They quickly welcomed their grandfather as loudly as boys can. Then, they clamored to see what he brought them. Each received a fine knife, but Imrahil quickly took charge of the knives, for any sharp object was a dangerous plaything.

"And how do you fare, Eälótë 1?" he said, greeting his daughter-in-law. "I hear you brought in a new addition to the family."

Imrahil's wife smiled warmly, "I am well, sir. This is little Lothíriel." She held out the little bundle in her arms to Adrahil.

"I shall hold the child when I have bathed," said he. "She is a delicate little creature, and I must take every precaution when around her."

That night after all the boys were sent to bed, Adrahil finally held the little girl in his arms. He marveled at the child's small size and mild conduct. He remarked softly, "This is the first time I have held a granddaughter, for all my grandchildren have been boys until now."

A foreboding thought passed through Eälótë's mind. She silently regarded her sleeping babe, not revealing her unsettled mind. Eventually, she excused herself and the child, kissing her father-in-law goodnight before leaving the father and son.

In her room, Eälótë tenderly placed Lothíriel in her cradle. Her darling little girl only cried when hungry and tired. She was so much easier to care for than her three brothers. The baby awoke and stared into her mother's concerned eyes.

 **Author's Note:** As always, I love receiving constructive criticism and encouragements! So, drop me a review!

1Eälótë is Quenya for _sea flower_.


	2. Chapter 2

Adrahil formed a close bond with Lothíriel as the child grew. Lothíriel reminded him of the child he lost. Both were gentle and quiet. Both appreciated the little things of life. Both were innocent, yet quick to understand the realities of life. Both had a strange way of knowing things.

When Lothíriel turned nine, Adrahil took ill. Lothíriel often read aloud her lessons to him. He found it quite pleasurable to listen to the child's lilting voice. Now and then, he even helped her pronounce the new words.

One day, Lothíriel came in with a wide smile, saying, "Grandfather, I brought the first flower from my rose."

Adrahil painfully sat up in his bed. He said, "Bring it closer, child. Let me smell it." He inhaled the sweet scent.

"Grandfather," said the child solemnly. "I wish you did not have to go away forever."

"Yes," said Adrahil sadly. "I can do nothing to stop me from going. How does one so young understand such weighty matters?"

"During the winter, a tree became sick and did not get better," she said. "It withered until it died, and Father turned it into firewood."

Adrahil smiled, "Do you compare me to a withered tree?"

"No," she said. "I am just saying that the life in you is going away, and I wish it did not have to be that way." She laid her little hand over grandfather's weakened one.

"Death does not end life, my child. It begins a new one where I will never die again."

"Does it? Then I should like to come with you, Grandfather."

"Do not wish for death, child, when you have a life. There is so much in life, and it would be a waste if you do not live it."

"Then I shall live my life remembering your words, Grandfather."

"Good, now tell me how your riding lessons with Elphir fare, for talk of death tires me."

She obeyed, carefully highlighting Elphir's patience with her and the stubborn pony she rode. When she noticed her grandfather sleeping, she stopped and tiptoed out of the room.

Not long after, Aradhil died. Lothíriel missed him greatly, but he eventually became a fond memory.

When Lothíriel turned eleven, Eälótë took full charge of her daughter's education. Before, a governess taught Lothíriel reading, writing, arithmetic, sewing, and proper manners. Now, it was time for Lothíriel to learn to be a useful lady.

On hearing the news, Lothíriel rejoiced. She liked the governess, but she loved her mother even more.

The next day, Eälótë took her daughter to the market to introduce her to economics. She also taught her how to barter for quality products. Eventually, Lothíriel learned how many expenses there were to keeping a castle and hosting events. She also learned how income determined expenses.

Whenever she visited poor widows or families, Eälótë brought Lothíriel to accompany her. They often brought a basket of a week's worth of food. In exchange, the previous week's basket contained some sort of handiwork.

After her second visit to a kindly widow, Lothíriel asked, "Mother, why does the lady put something in last week's basket?"

"It is a matter of principle, my child," explained Eälótë. "Each person is capable of working in some way. I would be doing the good dame more harm by giving the food without some return, for her work ethic would be severely damaged in the end."

Lothíriel also started learning the harp and flute, for Eälótë wished to give her daughter an appreciation for music. Lothíriel enjoyed her musical lessons, for she was a shy girl. Visiting the market, the people, or learning to dance made her feel nervous and clumsy. With music, she forgot everything else but the beautiful sounds emanating from the instrument.

When Lothíriel turned twelve, Eälótë came to her husband, asking, "Will you teach Lothíriel as you train our boys?"

"Sword fighting and all that!" he ejaculated. "Lothíriel is far too delicate for that kind of training."

"Nay, not that training," Eälótë laughed. "I want her to learn to think through decisions and discuss important matters well."

"To think like a politician," said Imrahil thoughtfully. "At least suitors will have a harder time winning her heart. She is a gentle spirit with a great heart."

Imrahil began teaching her to identify valid arguments and fallacies. For homework, he assigned her books on court cases and war strategies to Eälótë's shock. Half of the lessons consisted in analyzing famous speeches. The other half of the lessons was discussions of understanding the stratagems and formulating alternate ones. They also practiced inventing and implementing tactics by playing chess in the evenings.

After the first year, Lothíriel's education became more relaxed because she learned the most important principles first. She rather enjoyed her visits to the town, for she had become accustomed to the people. At social events, she spent much of the time hiding in the corner. She disliked having to find topics to talk about with complete strangers. She also hated how some of the men monitor her movements as a hawk would a share. Thankfully, her brothers were always nearby.

Whenever she was not visiting or helping her mother, Lothíriel and her faithful canine guardian, who took charge of his mistress's safety when Lothíriel turned thirteen, romped together at the family's private beach. Sometimes, Lothíriel brought her sketching, book, or flute. At other times, she and dog sat quietly on the beach, watching and listening to the waves and the calling seagulls.

One day, Eälótë joined Lothíriel. While seating herself, she said, "I thought you would be here."

"I am always here whenever I am not busy," Lothíriel answered softly, closing her sketch book.

"Darling, how much do you love the sea?" questioned Eälótë.

Lothíriel gazed thoughtfully at the waves while stroking her furry friend. Finally, she replied, "I love the sea for its ever changing beauty while remaining strong and wild. If I were to go, I would miss the sea, but I think I could learn to love my new surroundings."

"The reason I ask is because I fear for you," explained Eälótë. "Your aunt, Finduilas, dearly loved the sea. It was her life. When she married and moved to Minas Tirith, she pined for the ocean until she passed away before her time. I do not wish for my daughter to bear the same fate, for you are like her."

"Grandfather once told me to make use of my life, and I try to," said Lothíriel, laying her head on her mother's shoulder. "I would rather be useful at home than outside although visits to the village have become rather pleasant."

"Amrothos is as restless as the waves, and Erchirion is like the bright sunshine. Elphir, he is the steady breeze, but you are the treasures beneath the waves," smiled Eälótë.

Lothíriel added, "Or I am more like that gentle wind that no one notices until it has already passed. A whisper in one's mind."

"Perhaps, but my little whispering wind must be brave, for we shall be journeying to Minas Tirith in a few weeks. We best return now for the tide is beginning to rise."

Lothíriel and her mother climbed up the path with the dog following close behind. The days passed quickly until it was time for Prince Imrahil and his family to journey to Minas Tirith. The voyage was swift and pleasant. The family spoke often of their Minas Tirith relatives to help Lothíriel be less shy when meeting them, for Lothíriel dreaded the upcoming family reunion.


	3. Chapter 3

The ship arrived in Harlond midmorning. The port was rather busy, for many merchant ships were unloading their goods to be taken to Minas Tirith. Two young men met the family at the docks with a wagon. Spotting the Dol Amroth insignia on one of the ships, they immediately began waving and hailing the passengers.

After disembarking, Imrahil called cheerfully, "Boromir and Faramir, what a pleasant surprise!"

"How was your journey, uncle?" asked the one with broad shoulders.

Amrothos answered immediately, "As dull as can be."

Lothíriel slipped from her mother's side and returned to ship to soothe her mare, Súrusermë, while the horses were unloaded. Her horse shied from the men. A single word from Lothíriel quieted her equestrian friend. Lothíriel approached her steed and wrapped her handkerchief around the horse's eyes. She spoke soothing words in Sindarin while they lifted the horse from the hold and onto the dock. As soon as the horse felt solid land beneath her feet, she stood quietly while Lothíriel removed the blindfold.

"Is this your horse?" asked a voice from behind horse.

Lothíriel turned, and cool grey eyes met hers. She heard that Faramir was near his thirties, but he seemed to be closer to his forties. No person would appear older than his years unless some tragedy happened. He bore himself with humble pride, but a barely noticeable stoop in his back indicated a heavy burden. Despite whatever happened to him, he still smiled at the young girl before him.

"Yes, sir," she said, bobbing a curtsy. She felt a quiet authority that demanded respect and obedience emanating from her cousin. She added timidly, "Are you Lord Faramir?"

"That is my name," he responded. "And you must be Lothíriel. I have heard much of you from your father's letters."

Before Lothíriel could speak, the conversation between her father and Boromir concluded. The sons of Imrahil had already mounted and spoke among themselves while keeping their restless horses from galloping off. Faramir kindly helped Lothíriel mount before mounting his own.

Several minutes passed after the group left Harlond when Faramir called, "Lothíriel, come ride beside me."

Lothíriel glanced towards her mother, who nodded in assent. With a quiet word to her steed, she came to Faramir's side. They rode in comfortable silence, each recognizing the spirit of gentleness in the other.

Finally, Faramir asked, "What are your brothers like?"

"Each has their different personalities," responded Lothíriel. "Elphir feels his role as the eldest keenly, so he loves all his siblings in an almost fatherly fashion. Amrothos has a wild element in him, but he is learning to rationalize his plans before enacting them with Elphir's help. Erchirion, well, he is amiable and courteous. He is an even balance between Amrothos' wildness and Elphir's seriousness. We all love each other dearly."

"Boromir and I are close," remarked Faramir. "There never has been rivalry between us, and that has been a blessing. You might say that he is a mixture of all three of your brothers."

"How long is it from Harlond to Minas Tirith?"

"At the most, one can ride from the port to the city in an hour and a half. At the rate we are traveling, it should be no more than a hour."

"Súrusermë and I do not mind traveling a little bit faster if need be. We quite enjoy a change of pace," said Lothíriel, patting her horse, who whinnied in agreement.

"Your parents are conversing with Boromir, and conversation is more convenient at our current pace," laughed Faramir.

Amrothos and Erchirion soon joined Faramir and Lothíriel's conversation. By midday, they arrived in the city. After lodging the horses on the sixth level, the family continued into the Citadel and their own house. They spent a pleasant afternoon roaming the vast gardens. After supper and baths, all the children obeyed their mother's command to go to bed without complaint.

The next morning at breakfast, Imrahil announced, "We shall be joining your uncle and his sons for a luncheon. Therefore, I expect my children to be courteous and respectful." He glanced sharply at his youngest son, who bowed his head submissively.

Lothíriel quaked as a servant led the family to Lord Denethor. She expected her uncle to be a hard-faced man with a stoop and a hooked nose. Amrothos also said that his eyes pierced one's mind, but his voice was even worse. To her surprise, her uncle proved to be a tall, lordly man. His glance did not quite penetrate one's thoughts, but one could sense a strength of will few possessed. His nose was not hooked, but rather normal. His voice was similar to Imrahil's, for both were lords of men. Denethor hardly took notice of the frightened girl at Eälótë's side. He only offered her a curt nod before grimly greeting the sons of Imrahil.

After lunch, Eälótë dismissed the three younger to stay and listen or explore the palace. Lothíriel and Amrothos quickly chose to explore while Erchirion opted to listen just for a little while longer.

As soon as they left the room, Amrothos remarked, "I think I shall go to the stables and check on the horses. Do you wish to come?"

"No, I should like to explore a little bit," answered Lothíriel. "Perhaps Mother shall let us go riding this afternoon."

Lothíriel wandered through the empty hall and turned the corner. Before continuing, she paused to recount how she arrived at her current location so that she would not lose her way. She passed by several locked doors until she spotted a door standing ajar. Peeking through, she discovered a lady's solar. A magnificent harp stood by the wide fireplace. A vivid painting of the ocean hung over the mantelpiece. Lacey curtains, dyed a pleasant blue, hung in the windows. White oak furniture cushioned with blue and white characterized the room. The walls were painted to resemble the gentle waves of the sea. Immediately, Lothíriel thought of Dol Amroth.

The harp stood alone, forlorn after many years of disuse. Attracted to the instrument like a moth to a flame, Lothíriel approached the harp. The strings were still in fine condition, but they were out of tune. A cabinet stood to the side of the fireplace. Lothíriel peeked through the drawers until she found the tuning key. Half an hour later, she finished tuning the harp. Taking a seat on the cushioned stool, she played a lullaby. Then she began a ballad she was learning. It did not take long for her to lose all sense of space and time. The world seemed only to be of dancing fingers and gentle music.

"Who gave you permission to enter and use this room?" a grim voice questioned, disturbing the almost magical atmosphere.

Lothíriel glanced into Lord Denethor's hardened face of grim stone. After carefully rising, Lothíriel stuttered, "I beg your pardon, sir. If you please, may I explain myself?"

He answered coldly, "Do."

"I was exploring and found this door ajar. I play the harp, and this one looked like no one touched it for too long. It is the most beautiful harp I ever played, and it was so lonely and forlorn until I tuned and played it. If you would rather, I promise to never come again," Lothíriel explained in a quaking voice. She gazed silently at her feet, wishing for the floor to swallow her. When she looked up, Lord Denethor's face softened, as if he remembered some sweet memory from long ago.

At last, he spoke, more to himself than to Lothíriel, "She never would have wanted it to remain silent. And you, child, seem to be very much like her in nature and ways. If anyone has the right to play her harp, it might be you."

Lothíriel gazed into the face of Lord Denethor. He no longer seemed like a man of iron, but of flesh and bone. She spotted trace of weariness in his posture, and sadness in his face. He was an old man, tired of life's trials.

He quietly said to Lothíriel, "Leave me, child."

Lothíriel silently left the room. When she passed Denethor, she paused and gently touched his hand. As soon as she exited the room, she breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried off to find her mother.


	4. Chapter 4

Not long after her first encounter with her uncle, Lord Denethor invited Lothíriel to come spend an afternoon with him and his sons. Lothíriel wished her mother to accompany her, but Eälótë reminded her daughter that she was not invited this time.

A servant opened the main door. She silently led Lothíriel up the stairs and through a hallway. She paused at a door and knocked before opening and announcing, "Miss Lothíriel, sirs." With that, she departed and left Lothíriel to handle her uncle and both her cousins.

They rose when she entered, each kindly greeting her.

"Do you mind playing for us?" Lord Denethor inquired. Gentleness flavored his otherwise, stern voice.

Still somewhat afraid of her uncle's grim demeanor, Lothíriel answered tremulously, "No, sir. It would be a great honor to do so." She seated herself at the harp. Looking at the music sheets, she found them to be quite easy. Taking a deep breath, she began to play and soon lost herself in the melodious notes.

Denethor watched the young girl play the harp without a thought for anything but the music. For many years, he believed that silence of any time was the best medicine for grief. Then Lothíriel came, causing him to recall many memories long forgotten. Pleasant ones of the first few years of marriage came to his mind. When Lothíriel concluded and rose from her place, he almost fancied he saw Finduilas' face.

He said quietly, "You play well. I should like to hear you again."

"We rarely hear the harpers of Dol Amroth," added Boromir, "but you must surely be the best of them all."

Lothíriel blushed, saying, "I am still learning, cousin, so I do not deserve such high praise." She glanced out the window, noting the westering sun. She calmly asked her uncle, "May I please return home now?"

"Indeed you may," said he, not stirring from his seat. "And thank you, child, for a pleasurable afternoon."

Lothíriel curtsied and exited the room. Some minutes of slow wandering passed before she heard footsteps following her. She paused and turned. Faramir rounded the corner. Seeing her, he smiled.

"I asked Father if I may accompany you home," he explained, "for I thought you might want some company."

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Did you set out the music for me?"

"Yes," he answered. "My father knows many things, but music is something he has not mastered. Boromir is a warrior at heart. The music he prefers is the singing of swords and the bellows of war horns. Despite our differences, we love each other as brothers should."

Lothíriel said carefully, "I think you have the best of both your parents. Strength of will and understanding tempered by gentleness. Boromir, well, he is his own person."

Faramir nodded absentmindedly and patted her shoulder. His grave face softened by thought.

They continued in silence until they came to the open air. Finally, Faramir said, "I should return now, for Father will be expecting me. First, though, I should like to thank you."

"I enjoyed playing for you, your brother, and your father," Lothíriel said courteously. "It is rare for me to play so beautiful an instrument."

He continued, "My father is rarely moved to tenderness, but I believe you remind him of my mother. I heard only she had such an effect on him."

Lothíriel looked up into Faramir's face. Through his eyes, she glimpsed a deep sorrow that was soon veiled by a peaceful light. She wished she could say something, but now was not the time or the place. Instead, she squeezed his hand sympathetically and let her eyes convey what words she wished to say.

In response, Faramir stooped and hugged his cousin, saying quietly, "I shall be leaving tomorrow at dawn and will not return before you leave. I hope that we shall remain good friends."

"We are kin, Faramir," said she with a smile, "and I shall never call my kin my enemy. May I write to you?"

He smiled, "Yes, you may."

Lothíriel departed with a final hug and returned to her house where she was greeted with questioning brothers and loving parents. Meanwhile, Faramir returned to his silent father.

That night, Lothíriel told her mother all that transpired that afternoon. She concluded her story, saying, "I wish I knew Uncle Denethor's full story."

"I shall not tell you all, my child," Eälótë said, stroking her daughter's hair. "I shall speak with your father, for he knows more than I."

The evening passed quietly. After dinner, Lothíriel played chess with Erchirion while her mother mended clothes. Erchirion and Elphir debated the effects of rash speech and action. Imrahil locked himself in his study to draft a letter to some lord of Gondor.

After barely winning, Lothíriel kissed her brothers and mother good night. She knocked on her father's study door. After a few moments, he opened the door, saying, "I am quite done now. Is something amiss?"

"Nay, Father," said Lothíriel. "I have come to say goodnight."

"Shall I tell you a story first?" He asked with a warm smile.

Lothíriel's face lit up. She said eagerly, "Yes, please."

Imrahil seated himself before the wide hearth, lit with dancing flames, and set his daughter on his knee. He remarked, "One day you shall be too big to sit on my knee."

"Never," Lothíriel protested stoutly. She added, "Will you tell me about Uncle Denethor and Aunt Finduilas?"

"Finduilas was older than me by five years," he began. "She was always gentle and easily moved to compassion. She was just as beautiful as she was kind. I believe you take after her in appearances and nature. Lord Denethor was twenty years Finduilas' senior. She was twenty-six when they wedded. She birthed Boromir two years after their wedding. Five years later, Faramir was also born. Although Denethor dearly loved his wife, he did not equally love his two sons. In Boromir, he saw a strong warrior and a man after his own heart. Faramir, he largely ignored. Finduilas endeavored to raise her younger son even though she grew weaker each passing year. You see, each of year of separation from the ocean took a little of her strength. When Faramir was five, she passed away."

"Is that why Faramir is often so solemn?"

"Yes, but he has never been grim," Imrahil answered. "It nigh on past your bedtime, but it is my fault. Scurry to your bed before your mother catches you."

Lothíriel kissed her father and hurried off. After preparing for bed, her mother came in and tucked her in bed. As she slept, she dreamt of the gentle aunt she never met.

The following days were quite uneventful. Now and then, there was a social function that Lothíriel did not have to attend. She preferred being by herself, practicing her music or doing some unnoticed good. After a few weeks, Prince Imrahil and his family returned to Dol Amroth.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I didn't know how quite to end this chapter, so a lame ending will have to do for now.


	5. Author's Note

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while! I am currently undergoing a lot of reading, brainstorming, and etc. because I working through a bit of a road...ahem...writer's block. If you have any ideas you would like to see happen, please let me know! Also, any constructive criticism is welcome. I'll be out of town without my computer, so expect a few days for me to respond.

Thank you for your time and patience!

~Merakia


End file.
